


Strength

by HolyEmpress



Series: The psyqualia Miwa collection [4]
Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: M/M, Mention of Physical Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Situational Humiliation, mention of emotional abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 09:15:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7216528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolyEmpress/pseuds/HolyEmpress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Aftermath of Miwa's psyqualia /phases/, after he snaps out of it and has to deal with the Kai he'd destroyed, and after he'd dwelled on the valentine gift he'd got from him.<br/>It's a pretty hard piece to describe and write notes or warnings for... but who would I be for not trying !</p><p>It's a piece that goes pretty deep about /gender/, and the conflicting feelings that goes with identity as a whole. I headcanon Miwa as a trans boy, who has repressed a lot of his feelings for the sake of being a good friend, well-integrated and trying really hard not to stick out, which is why the psyqualia serie kinda goes to explore his struggle in embracing his self. I don't really know if I need to write out that I find it perfectly normal for boys to wear dress, but well, better safe than sorry? The question here is more ... social pressure toward gender conformity and such. I'll gladly expend on it if asked.</p><p>Another important warning would be trauma mention/expanding on Kai's post-traumatic stress. It might hit close to home for some people - if that's the case, know that I'm sending you my strongest internet hugs, because I did put some experience into writing this - though I hope it can be somewhat catharthic? It's not like Kai is my favorite character or anything, but I did feel some happiness writing his final dialogue lines, because (SPOILER) reaching out for help is the bravest thing to do.</p><p> </p><p>After all this heavy stuff, I'd also like to issue a warning for pathetic ice cream flavor choices - it kinda pained me to write the words "vanilla ice cream with no toppings", but one must face writing wit a strong resolve and be ready for such extremes sometimes.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Strength

**Author's Note:**

> Aftermath of Miwa's psyqualia /phases/, after he snaps out of it and has to deal with the Kai he'd destroyed, and after he'd dwelled on the valentine gift he'd got from him.  
> It's a pretty hard piece to describe and write notes or warnings for... but who would I be for not trying !
> 
> It's a piece that goes pretty deep about /gender/, and the conflicting feelings that goes with identity as a whole. I headcanon Miwa as a trans boy, who has repressed a lot of his feelings for the sake of being a good friend, well-integrated and trying really hard not to stick out, which is why the psyqualia serie kinda goes to explore his struggle in embracing his self. I don't really know if I need to write out that I find it perfectly normal for boys to wear dress, but well, better safe than sorry? The question here is more ... social pressure toward gender conformity and such. I'll gladly expend on it if asked.
> 
> Another important warning would be trauma mention/expanding on Kai's post-traumatic stress. It might hit close to home for some people - if that's the case, know that I'm sending you my strongest internet hugs, because I did put some experience into writing this - though I hope it can be somewhat catharthic? It's not like Kai is my favorite character or anything, but I did feel some happiness writing his final dialogue lines, because (SPOILER) reaching out for help is the bravest thing to do.
> 
>  
> 
> After all this heavy stuff, I'd also like to issue a warning for pathetic ice cream flavor choices - it kinda pained me to write the words "vanilla ice cream with no toppings", but one must face writing wit a strong resolve and be ready for such extremes sometimes.

A gust of wind blows through the fabric of his white flowy dress.  
He would never had thought there could be such a pain in waiting ; yet, there he was, holding onto his bag, trying to ignore the people around him and, most of all, to stop asking himself if he would come. Both possibilities would have the same outcome.  
Even if Kai was never going to answer his invitation, he still had to stand in the cold like this and let them see who he was – as a small, meaningless compensation for what he had done. To endure the questioning, somewhat mocking looks of his former classmates, who kept giving him unsubtle glances as they walked by – he'd chosed the ice cream parlor on purpose, because it was so close to the school and that, more than anything, he wanted to feel it.  
The sense of shame and humiliation that came from simply being himself.  
If Kai decided to come, in spite of everything he'd done, then there was no point in hiding being his Fukuhara uniform, or another shapeless pink sweatshirt, when all he genuinely desired was to wear something he really loved and considered beautiful – the white dress, and nothing else.  
It fit him a little too loosely around some part, and absence of sleeves (he adored the details of the straps though, adorned with small embroided flowers) was putting a lot of focus on his arms, but the overall impression was still harmonious, and something he'd enjoy in normal circumstances.  
He wasn't feeling pretty nonetheless today. 

Maybe it was the black eye that still hadn't healed, in spite of his mother's efforts - I'd expected this to happen had been her sole commentary, that day, after he came home bloody and bruised from Ishida's beating. He remembered her cold tone with perfect clarity, and the tears he's shed in his room, filling the silence of the house – they didn't talk as much anymore. Everything had become oddly quiet after the storm that his expulsion had caused ; at least, his mother had stopped screaming, but her lack of words was somehow way worse than her anger, worse than the hurtful words she'd had for him after hearing the nurse tell, yes, he almost beat his oldest friend to death. He could see her struggle, when she made dinner, when she said hello in the morning, against the part of herself that wanted to stop caring about her horrible, monstruous son.  
She still filled his plate and sent him off to school with a smile ; because she was much braver than him, who still thought everyday about simply giving up. 

He could barely manage to keep going, knowing that he'd forced Kai to kiss him so many times – that every inch of the skin he was exposing through this dress had felt his lips at some point, had been blessed by his love, a love he'd never been deserving of in the first place, and he was obscenely displaying himself again, his greed, his desire to have « this » back, whatever it had been.  
And the words kept swirling around in his head, as he was waiting for Kai to arrive or never come, I love you because you're you, in his sad, weakened voice, the peculiar shine of his crying eyes keeping him company as the minutes kept advancing. 

He arrives late ; he doesn't comment on it, because he knows just how hard life had been for Kai lately and that keeping track of time had to come last on his list of priorities.  
He looks weary and anxious, from the way he walks to the noise his breath makes, painful, as if all energy had left his body – no, his heart – after he'd been released from his poisonous grasp, and for a moment, hesitation strikes him.  
There's a serious chance for this to be a bad idea - how could he ever think he wasn't going to hurt him again, when he'd broken him in every way, so meticulously, from the top to the very foundation, so that he could never stand tall again, and indeed, Kai wasn't standing tall today, but he didn't feel like a winner about it.

\- Miwa… Kai tries, after a few awkward seconds of silence.  
His voice sends shivers down his spine. In spite of the weakness of his volume – Kai never spoke up anymore, couldn't speak up anymore – he could clearly hear the sweetness in his tone. His efforts, radiant, to make him feel his affection, and, truely in his life, he'd never seen Kai try so hard before, at anything, not even vanguard – which only makes the feeling of guilt sink deeper in his chest, and it occurs to him that Kai can see him, that Kai is looking at the dress with eyes that seems to be watering, but quickly collects himself before asking ;  
\- Are you okay ?

Off course – he expected no less from the person who knew him the most, from the sweet kid who'd asked him to play ball in kindergarten, who'd grown into such a gloomy adult and yet still retained some of his old qualities. He'd almost laughed, in other circumstances, because he was just so ridiculously straightforward ; anybody else would have asked in a more sensible way, but Kai had to be Kai, and act without thinking of the consequences beforehand. It was a small joy, actually, to see him slowly revert back to his old ways. Around the very end, he remembered.  
That Kai lips would always move but never produce a sound, and the bruises all over his face were a testimony of the reason why ; so it was genuinely nice, to see that Kai was his own again, freed from the reflexes he'd burned and beaten into him before.

If only it hadn't been that question – then maybe, he would have managed to feel happiness.  
But Kai's eyes weren't turning from his dress, and he was hurting from the realization that, in the end, the carefree person he'd tried so hard to be had never existed. He'd just tried his hardest to put on the most loveable act he could find – so that Kai, so that everyone would accept him, and parts of his act where made of bad compromises, because nobody could have loved someone so complicated, and gone out with a boy who still deeply loved to wear frilly dresses, so he had to settle for the uniform and the concealed feelings. For the best – or at least, that's what he'd told himself for years, and, what, in a sense, he had punished Kai for through relentless torture.  
So the question was just too ironic.  
He had never been okay, and he hated himself just as much as he loved this dress, but Kai didn't have to know.

\- I'm fine.  
\- But…  
\- I just told you I was okay !

The words escape his mouth, too quick and too loud, enough to startle the other customers of the ice cream parlor, though all that matters to him is Kai.  
Who's trying to control his shaking hands unsucessfully and panting – his green eyes staring into the void, looking through him, his lips, slightly parted in an expression of shock and pain that doesn't go away, in spite of his struggle. He can tell that Kai is trying, fighting deep inside, with images too real for his imagination, and he wonders how he could have ever enjoyed this – what type of twisted person could find fun in watching Kai battle against his panic attack for five tedious minutes before he comes back to his sense.  
He still doesn't look fine to him however, too shaken and too scared, but something stops him from voicing his concerns out loud. He's done too much harm already, in the short time they'd spent together – and he cannot bring himself to tell him to go home, because he doesn't want to part with him again.  
Maybe it's the last time he's ever gonna brave enough to look into his eyes. 

\- I mean… let's order something and sit down, he declares with a joyless tone.  
They go through the door of the familiar place together. It's not a first time – they'd played vanguard there in the summer, when Kai wasn't in the mood for the crowded Card Capital, his bestfriend always scolding him after he'd placed his second order, because that's not what we're here for, Miwa, oblivious to the ridiculousness of what he'd just said. He'd laugh back and quickly finish his strawberry parfait inbetween losses.  
It was a happy place. 

Kai orders a single scoop of vanilla ice cream, without toppings, and something deep inside him breaks, because the Kai he knew always ordered matcha ice cream and chocolate sauce on the side, and because he understand the reasoning. Vanilla was the safest choice.  
One he couldn't get yelled at, mocked, beaten for – he'd spent so much energy ruining everything Kai loved so that only him would remain, so that his toy fully belonged to him and could never want anything else that being owned, used by his rightful master, and with disgusting talent, he'd accomplished just that. Kai's deep green eyes were always lost in memories of trauma.  
He'd heard from Aichi that he'd also stopped cooking – he seems afraid of going into the kitchen, actually, Aichi had said after explaining his unsucessful attempt at making stir-fry with Kai, and he'd laughed bitterly.  
Off course he was. He'd almost broken his nose there – twice. And licked dirty food off the floor, and gotten stepped on, spat on by Ren too.  
He quickly orders pistachio for himself and wipes off the tears in the napkin the cashier gives him, fast enough that Kai won't notice that he's dying to let it out and cry but horrible people simply had no right to. 

They decide to sit at their usual spot in the back of the shop – it's quiet, as always in the first weeks of March, with only regular customers and bored highschooler coming in to have a chat, but those weren't here at the moment. It was a very peaceful saturday, and he catches himself staring at the pink tablecloth and the flower vase on their table a little too dreamingly for a second – but that was the point of the text message, of that meeting after all. He was, once again, indulging himself in something he shouldn't have, because he had a weak, fragile heart who longed for something like this. It was all he was about, really – since he'd been content for so long with the fake love and dating.  
He was so prideful, in the end – Ishida had hit him with all his might, Misaki, slapped with all the force she could muster in his rage, his mom, yelled louder than she'd ever did, and he still insisted on pretending to be fine with it, as if. As if I'd never wanted to come back crying at Card Capital and just beg for forgiveness instead, and cry in his mom's lap, because this wasn't the person he wanted to be, as if – he'd always dreamed of something else. The Miwa, in his greatest fantasies, wore those pretty dresses and took Kai out for ice cream, and could say sorry and be forgiven instead.

\- What did you invite me here for ? Kai asks after a while.  
There's no impatience in his voice. It's a great question, he thinks to himself, gulping down his last spoon of pistachio ice cream before putting it down. He'd been avoiding to look at his friend – ex-friend, the cruel voice of his subconscious suggests – for as long as they've been eating, but he finally dares to look up, and it's not as bad as what he'd expected. It just settles in like a sickness instead of a stabwound, and there's no brutal shock, only a long, nauseating feeling as he discovers just how much of an impact he'd had on Kai.  
He still hasn't pulled back all the weight he'd lost during their time dating together. It shows in odd ways ; his face is only a little more hollow, more sunken than it used to be, but he has spent a lifetime looking at him, studying the subtlety of his traits, so it seems obvious that the sad, restless expression he arbors had almost been carved into his skin at this point. Even when he wasn't aware of it, he looked depressed, dealing with the unbearable pain of living and going on. 

He takes the small package out of his bag.  
He'd written it in the text message, meant it with all his heart, so there was no going back now.  
\- It's White day, Kai, he admits guiltily, pushing the small gift towards him. 

He seems surprised for a second – off course, that idiot never remembered any important date, no matter how many signs where promoting chocolate sales and romantic gifts in the streets.  
That idiot he loved so much, all his weird habits he'd memorized by heart, because it was him, because it was him, the most crucial thing of them all, and someone who'd taught him about the most cruel paradox of them all, that you could hate yourself to the core and still wish for someone's affection with all your heart.

He knew just too well the content of his box.  
A small porcelain cup and a box of herbal tea. The teacup had been handpainted with a pattern of bright, yellow jonquils – he'd spent hours searching antiques stores for the perfect one, because he couldn't make any compromise. It had to be exactly this, and he'd stared at this cup for so long after buying it, because it was so accurate to what he wanted and what he felt, the colors brighter than anything he'd seen before, just like his love for Kai had been a light to his life.  
An aching light.  
But still strong enough to make him want to go on through this pain.

(The herbal tea was for his sleepless nights.) 

He hears the giftwrap getting torn apart by Kai's hand, followed by silence. Somehow, he knows he's just avoiding the inevitable, and also waiting for the sound of crushed porcelain hitting the floor, of Kai's footsteps leaving the parlor, two things that don't come. He raises his head to see him holding and turning the cup into his graceful hands to examine the painted jonquils closely. The tea box was opened – unsurprisingly.  
He remembered he like to smell teas before trying them, another of his weird habits – yet, he feels teary-eyed at the thought that Kai had just smelled his tea and examined his cup with such fine care and attention.  
For a second, it's enough that he forgets he's the worst person in the world. 

\- Miwa, Kai says in a serious tone after putting his gifts back on the table.  
His heart misses a beat.  
\- Please hold my hand, he demands calmly. 

Kiss me or I'll let you bleed on the floor tonight resounds in his head. He can see the white walls of the nurses office and Kai's open wound right above his eyebrows, as clear as the daylight piercing through the blinds – see his own, wicked smile as their lips meet and he breathes his lovers air, feeding off his painful gasps. It's a hurtful memory, a strange echo from the past, though he wonders if it's intentional on Kai part, that he'd turned his order into a request.  
That he would leave him a chance not to hold his hands when he could – but eventually he reaches out to intertwine his fingers with his. It's more than terrifying - he'd refused to touch Kai again before in fear that he would retreat into fear and panic, just too aware of his anxious shivers whenever he came close, whenever he moved too fast or too suddenly – and Misaki and the others never would have let him, never have allowed for his monstruous hands to harm Kai again.  
And because life doesn't have fairytale endings, Kai's fragile hand starts shaking, but he also tighten his grasp onto him, with a strange desperation, a silent interdiction to let go, so he lets him enjoy his fulfilled request. 

When he looks again, Kai is giggling. It's something he's never heard before – beautiful, off course, but Kai had never been the type to laugh at anything, but somehow, he stares at the jonquils cup and the giggle don't stop. He feels water gathering at the corner of his own eyes as the giggles become painful, almost as if Kai is choking out, suffocating and out of breath – until he lets out what could only be described as a soul-crushing cry and lays his head on the table.  
Kai had never allowed himself collapse like this.

(His own tears are much quieter ; so much that his ex-boyfriend, ex-bestfriend, ex-everything cannot hear a thing.)

They're still holding hands while he cries his heart out the way children do, with no bounds, no limits – it's too loud to go unnoticed, but he takes it onto himself to give menacing glances to strangers so that Kai could be left alone to vent his pain away. He doesn't care that they spend a full twenty minutes like this, and it actually feels like a unfair trade – he'd abused him for five months.

(And was, off course, ready to let him cry for twice as much.)

Eventually Kai's tears dry out – but his face is weary and torn into the worst expression he'd seen him make, twisted by the aches in his heart, his eyes bright with terror and desperation, a peculiar shade of green, the green of a fallen hope.  
And his lips, the same lips that had spent so long gasping for air manage to say a sentence that burns itself into his mind. 

\- If you… love me, please help me, Miwa.


End file.
